"My Emîr is going to visit that accursed missionary, who hates me and will work my ruin if he can."
"Why then remain a Brûtestânt among such enemies? Return to the Orthodox Church, and thou shalt find friends enough."
The mighty Daûd deigned for once a glance at Iskender. The house of Mûsa were fanatics in religion.
Elias took Iskender's hand and went out with him.
"The news is bad for me, too," he said ruefully, "for they hate me also—curse their religion!"
"What matter for thee? He is not thy Emîr. For me, it is the risk of life itself."
Iskender broke away from him at the first chance, and walked back to his home upon the sandhills. His mother screamed surprise at sight of him.
"My Emîr is busy," he explained, assuming cheerfulness as a good shield from questions, which might easily have probed too far into his cause for grief. For the same reason he forbore all mention of the purposed visit of his Emîr to the Mission. "I am free to-day, and so returned to see if I could help thee in the house."
Receiving his offer of help in sober earnest, she sent him presently upon an errand to the house of Costantîn; but on the way there, with the Mission full in sight, its red tiles glaring fiercely in the noon-day sun, it occurred to him that his Emîr would surely fall in love with the Sitt Hilda. Rent by the twofold anguish of the thought, he wandered aimless for an hour, and then returned, to gape at mention of an errand. His mother hurled a saucepan at his head.
"May thy house be destroyed!" she screamed. "Nay, go not now. It is too late! Within this minute I have seen Costantîn take the road to the town. O Lord, what have I done to be thus afflicted?"